The Holidays

Well, I feel like I made it through the holidays intact. I distracted myself with dinners and visits and keeping busy. I have been off work since December 17th, that’s 13 days so far. Where did the time go?
I spent the first 6 days cleaning my house, visiting friends and preparing for our Christmas Eve dinner. I had an old high school friend join me on the 23rd and stay until the 29th. It was a great distraction. I had 12 people to dinner on Christmas Eve and it was a lot of preparation and I think all had a good time. I didn’t last the night. I went to bed and left the next generation to clean up. God love them for picking up where I dropped out!
Christmas Day I was able to watch my 2-year-old granddaughter have the first Christmas that she understood. She was a joy to watch: the pure joy and pleasure at the receiving of gifts and even at the giving of gifts. She is such a doll. She is the only one who can bring a true smile to my face.
I spent a couple of days visiting with old friends and then a couple of days with just my high school buddy. We talked and talked. It was good. I am trying to figure out who I am now. Old friends help me to remember who I was in the past which I think will help with the future.
I thought of Dave and of T all the time as always and I missed their presence, but I managed to avoid a big melt down or a big slide into depression.
I read many widow blogs, looking for “companionship” with my grief. I feel very alone with my grief these days. I am so grateful for the widow community and the sharing and honesty that are out there.
The Christmas season really makes me miss my first husband, T. We started a family together and developed our own traditions over the Christmas season. We spent 21 Christmases together. It is still, after 6.5 years, quite hard for my children and I to have a truly good time at Christmas. December also holds our wedding anniversary on the 17th (it would have been our 27th) and T’s birthday on the 27th (he would have been 58).
So, it’s all over now and I made it through in the best way that I could. Now, I head towards our wedding anniversary, and the first anniversary of Dave’s death. It was an exceptionally tough January and February last year. No anniversaries could ever be that bad. So I figure I will live through it!
Thank goodness the light is returning, ever so slightly every day, in this part of the world.

Inner Child

I’ve been thinking about my need to be held and stroked.

It is a very child-like need.

I am like a child wanting to be held in my parent’s arms.

So, I am going with that – I am looking after my inner child.


I am imaging that I am holding and stroking and comforting her.
Perhaps my need for comfort from outside myself will lessen if I care for my inner child.
Somewhere, I read something about Inner Child work – it was related to working through codependence.
The premise is that we all have an inner child that will “drive” us if her/his needs are not met.
I hope that I can provide my inner child with what she needs and that it will help me through my grief.

I've Done It Again

When my first husband died, we had been separated for 18 months. I was still very much emotionally dependant on him. About 6 months after his death, I met Dave. I fell head over heels in love with Dave. He became my emotional crutch. I needed someone to fall into with my grief and my pain and Dave was there with open arms. I was his grieving yet devoted girlfriend for several years. I eventually outgrew my grief and Dave I were alone with ourselves for only a short time before he too passed away.

So here I am 8 months out and I have again fallen in love. Not the head over heels kind like I had for Dave, but the oh please hold me kind. This desire shows me my need for comfort. But the love is not reciprocated this time. Nonetheless, I get to examine this behavior of mine. My grief wants to be held and stroked and comforted. I would usually turn to Dave for this, but he is gone and this is what I need the comfort for. I am a kinesthetic/tactile person and this lack of holding/hugging is painful for me.

Not just anyone will fill the void though; my heart is still discerning enough to pick a certain man. There is a part of me that is glad that this man doesn’t return my love. Well, he does as a friend, but he has a girlfriend so we really can’t be laying and holding each other anyways. If he were available, I’d be into another relationship without having recovered from the last. So I just have to suck it up and go it alone. (without too much self-pity)

In the words of Carol S.: Poor, poor widow me.

Birthday

It is my birthday and I have some very wonderful memories living with me. Dave and I had our “first date” on my birthday and one year later, he proposed, knee in the snow. There are a few birthdays that don’t have lasting memories and then last year, our last one together, he sent a beautiful bouquet of flowers to me at work.

That first time, it was Michelle’s and my birthday. Michelle and I had been sharing our birthdays since we met in the mid-80’s. Michelle suggested that we go out to dinner at a live music venue; have a meal and listen to some music. Her husband John was coming, so she said she’d invite Dave along as well. I had met Dave a few times before. The first time was in 1987. We’d run into each other at music functions over the years. That night, I was naïve and didn’t realize I was being “set up”. I was somewhat excited to see him though. He looked great as he entered the restaurant. He had been with his family downtown at the Japanese Restaurant to celebrate the December birthdays in his family. He’d left early to meet Michelle, John and I. His mother, Marge, says that he told them he was off to a blind date and that he was hopeful. It wasn’t so blind though, 'cause we had met before.

We had dinner, the 4 of us – the music was ‘Tres Hombres’ – Oscar Lopez, Mike Stack and Tom Phillips. All three were local, talented musicians. Great guitarists. The music was good – especially Oscar. During the music, I remember Dave looked over his shoulder at me and smiled – I still see his face –that lovely smile, those beautiful eyes. Michelle wrote our phone numbers on our doggie bags. We talked about New Years Eve there together. It wasn’t very long before Dave called and the rest is history as they say.

One year later, Dave proposed to me in the snow. What a Canadian man! We had gone to Lake Louise in Banff National Park. We were spending the Friday and Saturday night. On the Saturday, it was quite cold, but we had wanted to walk along the lake. The view was spectacular. Not too far along, but not too close to the hotel, Dave dropped to his knee in the snow and proposed marriage to me. It was so romantic: the gesture, the setting. We walked back to the hotel to toast our new status. We had a laugh as we walked along: Dave wondered if we should have champagne, or at least white wine – but we both decided, “na, lets just have a beer”. We’re so Canadian!

So today, I am without Dave and I miss him terribly. I miss him every minute of every day and life without him is just plain blah. But I know that if Dave were here, he’d make me feel special today, in his own special way.

Transparency or Who Am I Now Anyways?

I started this blog so that I could process my thoughts and feeling and I guess, actions, with regard to my grieving of Dave’s death.

I feel that I have left a lot out.

I am having trouble being transparent. I am worried about judgments; I judge myself. There have been a few ah-ha moments that have been less than flattering; there have been some experiences that leave me wondering about myself. I have been burying these things away.

Do we need to confess our sins? Do we need to be transparent? Do we need to bear all?

I am currently reading Neale Donald Walsch’s book, "When Everything Changes, Change Everything" and one of the first things he feels we need to do is be transparent and have someone to share the journey through change with.

I have found great solace from online widows over the months; I have found solace in my friends and family. I have struggled with some people and I haven’t always been honest.

Does it matter?

I have been dissecting my relationship with Dave and my transition into singleness.

I have been having an identity crisis.

I have been having unexpected experiences and making unexpected decisions.

So - here goes - I am seeing other men.

I think that what is really important is not what I have been doing, but why I have been doing it. I long for and greatly desire human touch. I am very kinesthetic and sensual. I want to be loved and stroked and held. This for me is the hardest part about being a widow. I miss Dave’s touch. I miss the heavy breathing and the ecstasy of lovemaking. But I am not falling in love. My heart can’t go anywhere near that.

I am guessing that this is a phase of my grieving. Just like the drinking I did at the beginning. – ah ha – another confession. I have had a tendency to go a bit manic.

I am amazed at how other widows don’t do these things, or they don’t talk about it. There is something about the idea of a widow in our society – are we supposed to be all stoic and saintly? I drank way too much the first month after Dave’s death. I contemplated suicide for the first 6 months after Dave’s death. I sought sexual experiences 5 – 8 months out. I’ve been jumping out of perfectly good airplanes through the 7th month. This is such an unexpected journey. Really, I am a prude – I am a girl guide – I am passive and fear-based. But my behavior has been so out of character since Dave died. I don’t even know who I am anymore. I am not sure who I am becoming.

Another thing that Neale Donald Walsch’s book talks about is reflecting not on your story – but on your soul or your essence or who you really are. I guess I am trying to find that out.

Who am I really – now - deep down on the inside?

What do I want my life to be now?

So, I guess that I need to be transparent so that I can find out who I am and who I am not.

His Family

You often hear about how things go bad with families when someone dies. I never dreamed that that would happen with Dave’s family. After Dave died, so many speculations about my motives were brought to the forefront but never directly addressed. I was condemned for everything from why my son didn’t like Dave in my life, to why I married Dave, to how I handled the parade of visitors in the hospice, to what Dave decided to leave me in his will, to who was invited to our wedding, and so on and so on.

I now have no contact with Dave’s siblings. I find this sad. If anyone had ever asked Dave and I how things would go with the family, neither of us would have guessed that this is what his siblings would do. I was shocked and terribly hurt by the accusations thrown my way. I had no idea that the actions that Dave and I took leading up to his death would cause so much anger and resentment.

So much of it all shows me that they didn’t know me and they didn’t know Dave and I as a couple. And even though they were a close family, they really didn’t know Dave as well as they thought they did. When I stop to think about it, we didn’t have much contact in the 5 years that Dave and I were together. It was all polite and perhaps they never did like me in the first place. Who knows? All I know is that I loved Dave and Dave loved me and at the end I did everything I could to “do right by Dave”. My actions, done in distress as he deteriorated to his death, were mostly Dave’s motives as I asked him about everything. I asked him whom he wanted to see before he died and he gave me a list of people he wanted to see. I asked him what he wanted done with all his stuff and he gave me a list of material distribution. I asked him whom he wanted to send out correspondence on his behalf and he picked his friend B to do this. And so on and so on. After Dave's death, I put together a memorial service that reflected Dave and his life and celebrated who he was. I truly feel that I did "do right by Dave”. I am satisfied with that and I can live with that. I have nothing to be sorry for except the fact that his family is in so much pain and they have had to direct it at me. I guess what I am also sorry for is the fact that I have been put in a place where I feel I need to justify our actions from the final months of Dave’s life.

On the other hand, I am very lucky that I have a close relationship with Dave’s mother. We see each other often, talk on the phone and we have found solace in each other’s grief.

Just the other day, I spoke with one of Dave’s in-laws and she said, “ Everything is back to normal”, meaning that family contact and relations were back to how it used to be. That statement stopped me dead in my tracks. “Back to Normal” – nothing in my life will ever be normal again.

In the end, I am just going to walk away. I have struggled with what to do about the sibling’s anger and hostility towards me, although they have never actually confronted me. (Just like girls on the playground, this has played out through a convoluted web of interactions, hearsay and non-confrontation) I have contemplated “what is the high road here?” and feel that I have operated out of sound principles and love. I am sorry that some have taken it personally but I have nothing to apologize for.

It is easy to walk away from the siblings. Dave and I didn’t have children. They will go on with their lives as normal and I will attempt to start a new one - all by myself, just as if we never met.

How sad.

8 months - Hoping

So now it is 8 months. I was hoping that this grief stuff would get easier as the months went by, but it seems to be getting harder.

I am trying not to isolate myself. But I do have the tendency to do so. I cloister myself in my bedroom with the TV and my laptop almost every evening. I play far too many solitaire games on the computer. I avoid my homework (I'm a teacher). I rarely buy groceries. I eat too much fast food in my car.

I am progressing in a few areas, though. I get to the gym once a week now on a regular basis. Twice per week is the next step. I take vitamins occasionally and I am now getting the laundry done weekly. It all seems to take so much effort.

I am still struggling with self care. I still am not interested in the world. I miss Dave more and more and I feel more and more alone.

Hope.

I keep hoping that I will adjust to life as a single person. Life alone without a partner/spouse. Life without my best friend and companion.

I keep hoping that I will start to feel better. I feel that most people feel and think that I should be "okay" by now. That I should be more or less over it. Some acknowledge that this is the year of firsts. Some are tired of my depression and sadness. I can get tired of it as well. It is all so tedious. It feels so self-centred, so self absorbant. But I have no control over the waves of grief. They hit me like a wave, or they build and build while I suppress and then gush out. The sadness is an invisible cloak that covers me daily.

All I can do is hope that some day I will feel whole again, or at least more whole. That some day the world will hold interest and that day to day activities will seem less arduous and trivial.

Hope.

It didn't work for Dave and I last year. We hoped our asses off, hoping that his body and the treatments could beat the cancer. We had to have hope. Without hope, life was desolate. Our oncologist thought that we were too hopeful and not rooted enough in the reality of his impending death. We couldn't go there.

Hope.

Marking the Days – 7 Months

I made it past the seven-month date. I seems these anniversaries have become days of reflection for me – wait – every day is a day of reflection for me. So what is it about these monthly markings? They somehow have power – I give them that power by thinking about the date. I actually missed a couple of the month-versaries earlier on; I was in such a state of fog and numbness. But as I get further away from Dave’s death, they have gained more power.

My seven-month day was filled with good things – I took my grade 5 class hiking in the mountains with many parents participating. It was a beautiful autumn day – mild, sunny, little wind. The leaves and grasses were all aglow in colour, the blue sky a sharp contrast to the yellows, golds and greens of the mountain the forest. The rocky peaks had a scattering of snow. We hiked along a creek for about 3 km. The sound of the running water, the smell of the forest, the sound of happy children’s voices were all food for the soul. I had so much fun at the lead with several of the boys behind me rallying to be first in line. Their banter and antics were so very entertaining to me. We stopped along the way to have lunch, to climb rocks and boulders, to cross the creek and explore. The hike culminated at a waterfall that was hidden by the rock cliffs. We relied on our ears to tell us that a waterfall was “back there”.

After school, I was able to get my plans for the next few days done and then I went home to change and meet Dave’s Mom and Auntie M. The three of us are widows. The three of us have been deeply affected by Dave’s death. The three of us admire and respect each other. We had a lovely dinner together during which we raised a glass in Dave’s honour.

Then, tired and worn out by the day, the week, the year. . . . I went home to bed. There, my aloneness hit me. It seems the further I get away from Dave’s actual parting, the stronger the reality that I am alone becomes. I wept as I went to sleep and now, Saturday morning I weep again. My thought is, “what do I do now?” I have no idea. So for now, I will live as best I can, try to look after myself, do my best at work and mark the days.

The Grumpy Phase of Grief

I don’t know about you, but I have a hard time fitting my grief into any formula of phases and linear progression. Most ‘experts’ agree that grief takes its own route for each of us. I am currently in my Grumpy Phase. I have been waiting for the infamous Angry Phase, not sure that I wouldn’t explode if it arrived. My sadness has been so profound, that my anger might be outright dangerous! But the anger is quite mild, making me a grumpy old cow. The f-word is on the tip of my tongue 24/7. I am so tired of people’s trite and cliqued remarks and their assumptions about how I am or especially about how I should be. I am tired of the importance of nonsense and trivia in the world and our day-to-day lives. I find life trite and futile. I don’t see the f’n point in any of this shit. I hate getting up in the morning, I hate the routine of self care – the grocery shopping, the cooking, the cleaning etc etc, I hate going to work and pretending that it is all so interesting and purposeful. I hate coming home to where Dave is not and I hate going to bed and falling asleep alone. Maybe this really is my Hate Phase!? But it comes out as grumpy. I humph and harrumph through my days. I nod and smile. I answer the damn question, “How ARE you?” I pretend I am over it because that is what people want, but i am still so torn up inside and so shattered. I want to tell everyone to go away and leave me alone. But I don't like being alone much at all. I dislike life. I have no plans and dreams for the future – they all died with Dave. And it all just makes me so damn grumpy.

A Tried and True Motto

I haven’t written in several weeks. I am somewhat paralyzed. I haven’t been calling people, emailing or writing. There are a couple of reasons that this has happened. The first is that I have gone back to work and that takes up a lot of time. I am tired after a full day with 22 ten-year-olds! The second is that I have fallen into a depression. I find that I am able to leave the sadness at the door when I get to school and I can be upbeat and have fun with the children. I did major in Drama after all, and children really do bring me a lot of joy. But the sadness is still there, waiting for me, when I leave. It seems I cry on the way to work and I cry on the way home. I guess this isn’t too surprising. I have suffered from depression in the past and I still am a grieving widow.

Really, these two reasons are connected. Getting back to ‘regular’ life has intensified my sadness. Now I really miss Dave. This is the life I lived with him for several years, before he was subjected to that insidious, disgusting disease called cancer. My life then was: going to work from 7 to 5 and sharing the rest of my time with Dave. So now, I go to work from 7 to 5 and the rest of my life is empty. He is not here and though I am truly trying to move on and be optimistic, positive and hopeful, I really am sad and lonely and lost without him.

The mornings of cursing the fact that I have woken up have returned. The gray shadow has descended. I feel that I have regressed - I am once again ‘holing’ up in my bedroom, crying and staring at the ceiling. Not much of the world outside my door interests me.

Once again I find a little solace in the motto that I adopted 25 years ago, when my children were toddlers: This too shall pass.

Dreams

I had a dream about Dave early this morning. He was sick and dying, but I wasn’t experiencing the trauma I did in real life. There were many people around; it was like a street festival outside his room. I was visiting and hugging many, many people. I kept forgetting to tell them that I was pregnant with Dave’s child. I remember at one point in the dream Dave was standing and hugging me and he was saying that he was sad that he wouldn’t be here when the baby came. I was telling him how happy I was to be having his baby; that I felt that I would still have him in my life because of it. I was looking forward to having a little Dave to take care of and be with for the rest of my life.

Sigh.

I have actually thought about this over the months since Dave’s death. I think, oh, wouldn’t it have been nice if we’d had a child? We talked about it. Dave didn’t have any children and he would have been a wonderful father. If we had met at a younger age, we probably would have had a child or two. My children are in their early 20’s and the thought of starting over at my age was not at all appealing.

Sigh.

But Dave was in one of my dreams! This is not the first, but it was the first that he was in for so long a time. It was wonderful to have him standing and hugging me and to hear his voice. Dave has only been in 2 other dreams, and after both, I woke sobbing. This time I awoke feeling peaceful.

Sigh.

How to Recognize a Widow on Holidays

She’s the one crying at the pool because she just saw a hairy back. Now most people see a hairy back and say, “Yuck,” but the widow of man with a hairy back, sees one – for the first time since his death - and once again is crying in public.

She is the one crying in the middle of an Al Green concert of very uplifting and fun, but nostalgic music, digging for tissue because she is once again crying public.

She is the one crying on the street outside the souvenir shop where she just received a phone call on her cell phone from a friend/acquaintance who doesn’t use a computer and somehow was out of the loop and just heard of her husband’s passing. Once again crying in public.

She is the one crying on the beach as she remembers other holidays with him on beaches throughout the world.

She is the one crying in the mall after picking up prints of photos that had been on her cell phone. She had wanted that great photo from a certain happy day, but she forgot that there was a picture of him just before died, looking to gaunt and close to death’s door.

She is the one crying in her motel room with loneliness and sadness. It doesn’t matter if she is alone or with a friend.

She is the one crying in the restaurant because she is sharing stories with a dear friend, which she loves to do, but is just overcome with tears.

She is the one crying in the car as she misses his hand that used to come over to touch her as she drives down the street.

She is the one crying in the coffee shop as she writes a blog entry about how to recognize a widow.

Once again, crying in public.

I Still Can't Believe It

As much as I am trying to avoid my grief, it won’t avoid me. This morning I am feeling the grief deeply. I still can’ believe he’s gone.

I was relaxing (I’m on holidays), reading a novel when the story started to talk about a fellow and his older Porsche. One of Dave’s friends has an older Porsche and it started me remembering Dave and L. I remember specifically how L was such a good friend in the end. He took Dave out in that old Porsche for rides through the countryside, through the foothills, stopping for lunch and having a pleasant day. This was when Dave could still sit. This was last October. This was after Dave received his news from the oncologists that “there is nothing more that we can do”.

It was shocking and disturbing news. Especially in light of the fact that Dave had a form of skin cancer that was supposed to be completely treatable. We had had a roller coaster ride for 2 years, as the doctors were sure after each treatment or surgery that the cancer was eradicated. Each time we experienced joy and relief and began to look forward, breath again and get back to normalcy. The photo above is taken on one of those good news days. Dave healed, I nursed and supported and he became strong again. Then 3 – 4 months later we’d be told that the cancer was still present. So, more treatments, more surgeries. This happened 3 times and the 4th was the time they gave up on it. The cancer was in the lymph system. They had lost the battle. Each ride up and down the waves of emotions was difficult. The last, devastatingly difficult.

Today, I am remembering the months leading up to Dave’s demise. I had no idea it would all happen so fast. I waited until mid-December to take a leave from work, and by then he was so very sick. Cancer is a relentless and disparaging disease. I was his full time caregiver and I took care of him with all the love in the world. It was so intense. But I wanted and needed to be there for him. He died 2 and a half months later. I still can’t believe that he is gone. How could that be? He was such a vibrant, energetic man. It doesn’t seem right. He should be here with me.

His Side of the Bed

Here I sit in a motel room in Morro Bay, CA. I was out and about earlier today – I went down to the waterfront. I had a lovely latte and some frittata beside the marina and gazed at Morro Rock. It was another cold and windy day so instead of walking the beaches, I went shopping. OMG – I don’t shop, but cruising the galleries is soothing and inspiring. I am always intrigued and marveled by the creativity of others. But I also bought a pair of shoes and some jewelry. WTF – jewelry?! I rarely wear the stuff – I am always worried that I will lose it. So here I am spending too much money on jewelry that I will probably not wear. Oh well. Happy Birthday to me – I do have a birthday this year!

I feel better about traveling alone today. I am not so self conscious and uneasy. It could be that I had a good sleep last night. What a difference that makes. Since Dave’s death, I have been amazed at the loss of confidence I have experienced. I am typically a very independent woman. I go places alone, I make decisions by and for myself as well as others. I can hammer and nail and saw. I know how to call the plumber. But since Dave’s death, I have felt very vulnerable. My confidence has slipped and my strength has gone from none existent to evasive. I have avoided public places and encounters with others like the plague. Then, around month 4 was able to get out and do things, but often would just put my head down and "get at it". Today was a good day. I chatted up the waitress, the cooks, the clerks and some people on the street. The town of Morro Bay has a nice laid-back feel and it was easy to do. But it didn’t last long. I was back at the motel by mid-afternoon. I needed rest.

So, here I sit, on Dave’s side of the bed. If I sat on my side, I would miss him too much, I would look at the empty space and feel the loss of him. So I am sitting on his side. There is no room for him now. And now I feel guilty for putting that in black and white. I guess I just need a rest from everything – including my grief. That is why I have run away from home.

Rat-a-Tatt-Tatt

I did it. I got a tattoo. I have thought about it for 6 years now. August 4th was the 6th anniversary of my first husband’s death. I still miss him. I still think of him often. I still continually remember our times together and quote him often. I still wish our children had a father. I tell them stories of their father as often as I can.

Since his death, I have thought about getting a tattoo in his honour. Although he didn’t like tattoos and probably wouldn’t approve, I got a tattoo for me. It took me quite a while to decide on a design – and I told myself that I had to want that same design for one year before I would get it. At first I wanted a Celtic knot – but it didn’t really suite T. It suited me, though. Then I wanted a dragon – he was born in the year of the dragon. But I couldn’t find a design I liked. Then I wanted a sun – but no face. T loved the sun – he was Finnish and when the sun came out he said “sun” but in Finn, “ aurinko” (and don’t forget to roll the r !) I put a simple sun on his headstone as well as trees and mountains. He was a true outdoors man, a western-Canadian style outdoor man.

So – the tattoo finally came together last August. Dave, his best friend and I discussed it on the dock while on holidays last summer. I still wanted it this summer.

So – the sun is for T and the celtic knot represents the 4 of us: my son, my daughter, myself, and T who is the love we all have for each other. I am happy with it.

Running Away From Home

Where do I start? So much seems to have happened these past few weeks. I will have several posts to “get it all out”. I find I am constantly composing and writing in my mind. I have titles for experiences and photos. I could say that I am becoming a writer – but if I am more honest with myself, it is that I am not really engaged in my experiences. I am an outsider: observing, evaluating and recording. This is where I am right now. I am not truly engaged – everything is an expose for Dave – “Look, Dave, there is a field of strawberries” etc and I describe it all to him in my mind. It’s the endless days that I cannot share with him and I need to record it all to tell him when he gets home – only, he’s not coming home.

He’s not here with me on this epic road trip. I miss him. I wish he were by my side, seeing all that I am seeing,

My daughter, bless her, didn’t want me alone for this 24 day journey so joined me for the first 10 days. We traveled 1500 km down the Pacific coast from Victoria BC to San Francisco CA. We had a great time together. We laughed, talked, sang, played and romped like children. She listened and empathized as I talked about Dave and remembered him. We live on the prairies, beside the great Rocky Mountains, so all these seascapes and beaches and sand dunes are a real novelty. We enjoyed it all.

Yesterday, I left her at the San Francisco airport and am on my own now. Now I really miss Dave. I have 17,329 of his songs on my iPod. It is a comfort to listen to his music. While he was dying, I uploaded many of his CDs. The ones that had meaning for us: the ones we listened to together as well as others that I thought that I would like. We had the same taste in music. There was very little that we didn’t like together. So I am enjoying the music as well as feeling that a part of him is with me.

So – traveling alone – hmmm – haven’t done much of that in my life – a couple of weeks in Italy a few years ago, but I emailed Dave every night to tell him about my day. So now I have you, my dear blog. Any readers; thank you for ‘listening’.

I am spending a lot of time on the computer – catching up on 10 days worth of widow blogs. I missed my widow blog friends. They are such a comfort to me. I must get out for a walk on the beach.

The Dave L_______ Lounge

Two weekends ago, was the Folk Music Festival here. It was bittersweet to participate, mostly sweet. There were tears, lots of hugs, a few laughs, story sharing and some great music. I have seen some of the Folk Fest folks during Dave’s illness, some at his Celebration of Life and others not since last year. Dave had been a volunteer for many, many years. I spent some time there with him for the last 5 years. The FF staff - god love 'em - sent me a complimentary pass to be down at the island with back stage access for the weekend. Dave had been an institution there; a positive force that will be missed for years to come. It was a beautiful weekend – sunny and warm both physically and emotionally.

The love for Dave was palpable there. Dave was a volunteer for the FF for 22 years. The last 12 or so were in the Green Room (Artist's Lounge) as the Coordinator. So Saturday at the fest, the green room was turned into the “Dave _______ Lounge” in honour of Dave. Dave liked to sport Hawaiian shirts to serve beer and oversee staff. He liked to make the work there fun, so volunteers wore Hawaiian shirts as well. I took down a photo board of FF pics of Dave and the crews. It was bittersweet. He was a well-loved man. There was a light sprinkling of tears all over the grounds as I ran into people/volunteers who were missing his presence. I spent the majority of my time there visiting and reminiscing. I was not uncomfortable to be ‘alone’ as I did not feel alone, I felt supported and supportive and I felt loved and loving. It was wonderful.

Music, what music?! Although it was a very social time there, I did see a few acts that were awesome – The Swell Season, Michael Franti, Corb Lund, Ian Tyson, and Geoff Muldaur. Oh yea, and I got lei'd in the Beer Gardens! LOL

I could feel Dave's presence everwhere. He was in the corner of my eye all weekend. He was in the music, the smiles, the tears, the memories, the laughs and the fun. He permeated the whole setting.

It was very touching to see and be with others missing him; to remember him as the fun-filled, fun-loving man that he was; and to see the ripple effect of his time in our world. It was a lovely experience of community. It was such a beautiful honoring of a good man who contributed to his community. I was honored and humbled.

Unfinished Business

I have been struggling off and on with the unfinished business. Dave and I had a strained relationship. There are many questions that I would like answered. Should I go to an séance? A medium? I’ve never believed in these activities – but I’d like some answers and I have a few things to say as well. I have several apologies; explanations and I’d like to say Thank you. I really wish that we had had more time – time to work through our difficulties, time to resolve some issues, time to grow and become a stable, strong couple together. We loved each other greatly, but we were a bit of a mismatch. He was still a single man at the age of 49 when I met him, well ingrained in the world of dating and meeting other singles. I was fresh out of 25 years of marriage and raising a family. He was a flirty extrovert, I am a reserved introvert. He had no relationship experience; I had a great depth of experience with one relationship. We were opposites in so many ways but that was truly part of the attraction. I wanted more liveliness and socializing in my life and he wanted more stability and a long lasting relationship.
We were both newbies to our situation. The attraction to each other was palpable. The love that developed quickly was consuming. We respected and admired each other, we had fun together, we were good together, but there were issues that held us back from true commitment. I wish that we could have resolved them before Dave died. It doesn’t feel good that he died and I am left with this ache of how it could have been, how we didn’t get to resolve and work through our shit.
Sigh.

If Only

If only

The space/time continuum
was
A space/place continuum
Then
I'd be there and
You'd be here
and
We'd be
where we are

If only. . . .

One Foot In Front of the Other

I have appreciated the comments I have received from others. It is nice to know that others are connecting with my thoughts and experiences. A few have commented on the fact that I have been widowed twice and that they don’t think that they could do it again.
I would have said the same thing 5 years ago. And I don’t wish a widow repeat on anybody, but we humans are amazingly resilient. I can say this now, 5 months into my second husband’s death. 2 months ago, heck, 1 month ago, I was a shattered person, unable to do the simplest of life’s day-to-day activities. I just put one foot in front of the other, it was a great accomplishment to do the simplest of things – like getting out of bed, eating, showering. It isn’t easy. I think that I am more aware of my grief and my grief process this time. I sometimes think: oh, I remember this – this pain, this depression, this none stop crying, the constant stream of memories, the regrets, the deep, deep sorrow, and the inability to function. But the early years (yes, years) of my first loss are a blur, just as these years will be too, except that now I am keeping this blog as well as a personal journal of memories and photos. I am honouring this process more this time – I am doing less and being more. I am remembering and missing 2 wonderful men. Sometimes it is overwhelming to realize that I have been with two beautiful men who were so special and whom I loved so much and they both have been lost to me without my desire to do so. Widowhood is not like divorce, it is forced upon us, it is so, so final. I will have no more conversations or sightings. I will never hear their voices or see their faces again.
It just isn’t fair is it? But not long after my first love died, I did learn that love will return, that you can love another man just as intensely but so, so differently and that we have an amazing capacity to love. I have learned that “stuff” is not important, but that human connection is what is important and that people are what make this life worthwhile. I have learned who my true friends and family are and how important they are to me. I have learned to not sweat the small stuff and to be patient with others and myself. I have learned to honour my thoughts and feelings, to be authentic and present and call people on their bullshit in a matter of fact yet tactful manner. But I am still in so much pain and have a long ways to go before I will feel whole again. And I guess because I have done this before, I know that it is possible.

Lingerie

Well, not long after Dave died, (there’s a word I couldn’t use at first, instead I used the word, passing), his family wanted me out of his house, so I tearfully packed up my stuff and took it home to where my son, his girlfriend and their beautiful daughter were.
At home, I unpacked my boxes and bags of stuff (why is there always so much of it?) I began to unpack the box of clothing from the dresser. And there was the lingerie I would wear for Dave. It stopped me dead in my tracks. What should I do with it now? Should I unpack it? Should I throw it away? Should I bury it with his ashes? LOL
I find it amazing how many little things like this stop me dead in my tracks, bringing a flash of gut wrenching pain. Like certain songs on the radio, certain places I drive by, certain pictures, the sight of his asthma meds, a certain CD. My heart stops for a minute. I am suddenly frozen, finding it hard to breath and feeling pain. Often the tears begin. Sometimes decisions need to be made. Sometimes memories flood in. Sometimes sadness descends.
So, the lingerie is in the bottom of a drawer – I couldn’t do anything with it but put it next to his T-shirts and boxers that I now keep to wear to bed. No lingerie for me. Just the comfort of his T-shirts. I miss him. I miss loving him and I miss dressing for him.

Dear Dave

I miss you so much. I just went to a Stampede Breakfast in my neighbourhood. (http://cs.calgarystampede.com/blog/) I met Barb there and then found some of my student’s and their parents to hang out with when she left. It was nice to be out and socializing. I sure missed you though. You were the social one who was so at ease in gatherings of people. You were so good at striking up conversations, engaging people and making us all laugh. You had such a great spirit. I loved being your sidekick. It was so easy for me to be along with you. It is such work for me to be social and talk to people I don’t know. Maybe I can apply a “watch and learn” attitude and apply what I saw you do all the time. However, I don’t think I was taking mental notes. What was it that you talked about with strangers, acquaintances and friends? It was so easy and natural for you.

They had helium filled balloons at the pancake breakfast and I had the desire to take one and release it up to you. It wouldn’t have made it to the stars, but it would have been a symbol, a metaphor. I would have enjoyed releasing it and watching it rise out of sight (to you).

As a left the breakfast, I could see you in my mind’s eye. You had a drink in hand and were talking away in a social setting and I missed you so much then. Being out in the world without you is so lonely, so uncomfortable. I miss you so much. I am crying as I write this.

I am not at all looking forward to life without you. I am so disappointed that we will not be together through the days, weeks, months and years. This is so hard and I really don’t want to do it. The f word is such an appropriate word right now. It totally conveys how I feel about it all. F%$#!!!!

Music to My Ears

I am just starting to listen to music again. Here in Alberta, we have an amazing radio station, CKUA Radio Network. (online at www.ckua.org) Typically, I would have the radio on all day, listening to the great music that they play. Since Dave passed, I have been unable to listen to music. It just cuts like a knife.

Music was a big part of our life together. Dave was a big supporter of live music. He volunteered for the local Folk Festival, Jazz Festival and Blues and Roots Festival for years and years. He also volunteered for the radio station I mentioned above as their Events coordinator, organizing dance parties with live music.

We went out to live music venues frequently. We went to concerts of our favourite musicians, we volunteered for festivals and CKUA radio. So, after Dave died, I found it too painful to listen to music, but I have really missed it. Have you noticed that most songs are about love and loss? Of course you have. It can just be too painful. Then there are the songs that have meaning to our relationship. They often come from a CD that we listened to together. Just the introduction of a song can grip me with pain and emptiness.

But just recently I am noticing that I can listen to the radio or a CD for a little while. I find myself really listening to the lyrics, trying to capture the message the writer was conveying. Instrumental is great. Jazz the best.

Just after Dave died, I pledged a donation of one hour of programming at our favourite radio station. On Wednesday, the announcer played one hour of music in honour of Dave. I listened for the whole hour and heard the music that was ‘our’ music as well as some picks by the announcer. It was bittersweet. I cried several times, but it was great to honour Dave in that way. It was right for us.

Last evening I watched the DVD of Neil Young’s called Heart of Gold. I really like the lyrics of this song. I send it out to Dave.

"Falling Off The Face Of The Earth"

I just want to thank you

For all of the things you've done

I'm thinking about you

I just want to send my love

I send my best to you

That's my message of love

For all the things you did

I can never thank you enough

Feel like I'm falling

Falling off the face of the earth

Feel like I'm falling

Falling off the face of the earth

I just want to tell you

You sure mean a lot to me

It may sound simple

But you are the world to me

It's such a precious thing

That time we shared together

I must apologize

For the troubled times

Feel like I'm falling

Falling off the face of the earth

Feel like I'm falling

Falling off the face of the earth

More Rain and Gloom

Widowhood is a gloomy place for me right now. The weather has been cool and rainy and the spirit is listless. So the days drag by, filled with little, or at least little that I remember. My memory is terrible right now.

I have no desire to be with people. It hurts too much. I miss him too much. I just feel his absence far too much. It’s just all TOO MUCH!!

People have generally been good. I get a some phone calls and some invitations out. I can handle the small intimate get togethers for short spurts, but can’t seem to be in large gatherings for any length of time. I have become accustomed to crying in public.

I was invited to a good friend’s “Last Waltz” party; a house cooling party, I guess. But when I saw the guest list on the evite, I had an anxiety attack – that was the end of that.

I have been very reclusive; I spend a lot of time in my bedroom. I have done a lot of good grieving work there: organizing photos of Dave and of our time together; writing letters to Dave; chronicling our time together. Also: staring at the ceiling, crying a lot, watching endless CSI episodes (thank you Spike TV for killing time for me). I creep through Facebook, read widow and widower blogs and cruise the internet. I sleep. There have been days that I haven’t left my bedroom. These are lessening as time goes by.

I must admit that the clutter is getting to me though – my mail, my laundry, both clean and dirty, my boxes of stuff from Dave’s house, my papers, magazines, dirty cups, dishes and wine glasses..…and I’m out of chocolate! I don’t eat well, but I do manage to surround myself with the best of comforts: chocolate, coffee, red wine and sudoku puzzles.

But oh, I miss Dave so much. I want to touch him - touch his face and look into his beautiful eyes, hear him laugh and talk and tell him about my days and my conversations with people. I want to tell him that I love him and that he should never leave me and that I will spend the rest of my life loving him. I want to feel his arms around me. I want help with the crossword puzzle and to disagree about what to watch on the TV and where to go for dinner. I want to go CD shopping with him and hear of all his encounters in the world. I miss him in every way possible.

I try to be positive, but I usually fail miserably. So, tonight, I raise my glass of wine and say: Here’s hoping for better days. Here’s to loving a beautiful man.

Hello

Widowsquared – why widow-squared? Well, I am 52 years old and have been widowed twice. What are the odds of that? Pretty slim I imagine.

So why not widowed twice? - If you are at all familiar with math and the difference between 2x and x squared, you know that one is much larger than the other. My grief through this second death of my second husband has not been easy – my grief has escalated exponentially. Thus squared.

Even though my second husband was in my life for only 5 years, and my first for 25, this second death has hit me hard. It’s an accumulation thing I think. I had just started to feel that I had “gotten over T.” when Dave died. I had emerged from the deep dark well of widowhood only to be thrown down there again a short time later.

It has been pretty easy for me to feel sorry for myself. What widow or widower doesn’t at some point in the process? Dave has been gone 129 days; that is 4 months, one week and 2 days. I miss him terribly. He was the light of my life.

This is a poem that was in my head upon waking one morning:

My man

My love

The light of my life

My shining light

My beacon

You led the way

You took the lead

I am lost without you.

I am lost every minute of every day. I go to sleep thinking of Dave and I wake thinking of him. Actually, my first thought when I wake is: "Shit, I’m still here." It is very hard to be the one left behind. At this point in my grief, I would rather be with him. Life has no meaning or purpose right now. Nothing is of interest nor important. The depression is palatable.

Why did I start this blog? - I am selfish, I need to express myself, I need process this through the written word. Also, I have gained so much from other widow/ers blogs, that I thought that I would jump in too.

Can I post every day? - not so sure on that one - I have no routine right now and get very little done. But I will try.